Spare Feast! A Radish And An Egg.

The Darkest Day, If You Live Till Tomorrow, Will Have Passed Away.

In Indolent Vacuity Of Thought.

O Solitude, Where Are The Charms That Sages Have Seen In Thy Face? Better Dwell In The Midst Of Alarms, Than Reign In This Horrible Place.

The Bud May Have A Bitter Taste, But Sweet Will Be The Flower.

Some Men Make Gain A Fountain, Whence Proceeds A Stream Of Liberal And Heroic Deeds; The Swell Of Pity, Not To Be Confined Within The Scanty Limits Of The Mind.